Darkness
by TheTeaDrinker
Summary: Loki fell from the Rainbow Bridge, and now he's in Tenth Realm, and he must fight and run to survive. But he finds a woman there, one unlike any he's ever met. and she has been living in this desolate place as long as she can remember. She helps him immediately, but is there anything else she can give him, besides survival?


Darkness. It was everywhere. No, that doesn't make sense. How could nothing be everywhere? But that's what Loki was surrounded with. Nothing.

He got the sense that he was falling, but it didn't _feel_ like falling. There was a rapid, panic to falling, and this was nothing like that.

It must be a dream. An imagination, but even with all his mischievous thoughts, he could never conjure up something as cruel as this.

He tried to convince himself of that. But there was something in the back of his mind. It was red-hot and demanded to be noticed.

Loki ignored it.

* * *

Then he hit the ground. It jolted him to his senses and knocked him out of his ignorance. Thor, his so-called brother and Odin, who brought him up with nothing but lies and tricks. And that is what he became.

The place he landed in was cold. Colder than Jotunheim and that was a temperature to beat. And Loki looked around, but the land was desolate. There were mountains and growing things, but they seemed to change if he glanced away.

This place is meant to drive people mad, he thought. And he was right. If a man, or god, was unlucky enough to land in the Tenth Realm, rare as it was, he would drive himself insane, then die slowly from the things that lived there.

Then came the noises. Loki tried walking and walking and walking in hopes of finding something, _anything, _but to no avail. There was nothing good in these lands.

Well, maybe a couple things, but that's for later.

The whole Realm was covered in darkness and shadow. Black smoke misted over the air around Loki, making it even harder to find shelter or help.

There were noises, frightening him every moment. He tried to convince himself that they were nothing more than the beasts Thor would go hunting for, hammer swinging recklessly in hand. Surely if the great oaf could take down thousands of the creatures, they weren't nearly as horrific as he had always depicted.

Then it became growling. Loki could hear it, as if the monster was snarling right next to his ear. Then again, maybe it was.

Not willing to risk it, he took off sprinting as fast as he could, trying to dodge rocks and anything in his path. For a moment, he turned back, thinking that he only conjured the animal from his diseased mind.

But it was very real.

A large gray wolf, larger than it should have been, with its teeth bared underneath its open mouth, which barked at Loki, all while chasing Loki at abnormally fast speeds.

Loki had the head start though, which meant he was always a little bit ahead.

What felt like days on end the wolf chased him, but it was impossible to tell. The weather never changed here, no suns in the sky nor moons, it was always black, it was always dark.

Finally, while passing a mountain (or at least what looked like a mountain), Loki started stumbling, then eventually fell from exhaustion. He closed his eyes and accepted that he was going to die as he could feel the disgusting creature's cold breath on his neck.

When Loki awoke, he was not in Hel, but Valhalla, which was the less likely option for his afterlife. After all he had done, maybe the rulers of death took pity on his because of his upbringing.

He warm, or well, warmer than when he died. He had trouble opening his eyes, and for some reason his shoulder hurt.

"Drink this." Some foreign, sweet voice said to him. His right eye opened just wide enough to see a fuzzy image of a person.

"Drink this." They insisted again, now sounded like a woman.

Loki tried to ask, "Are you a Valkyrie?" but it came out as more of a cough, hiss sound.

"Shh...," the woman soothed, rubbing his shoulder (the one that didn't hurt) and repeated, "drink this, you unfortunate soul."

As Loki made more observations, he noticed her holding a dirty, wooden-looking bowl. Normally he'd say the bowl was not proper enough for a Prince, even a fake one, but this was not a normal time.

He sat up a bit, and grasped the bowl with shaking fingers and brought the edge to his lips and poured. The contents were warm and liquid, but had a certain thickness to it. It was not the greatest meal he ever had, but he was starving, and ate quickly.

Once he had the bowl, the woman walked behind a small fire and began scraping something small with a sharp rock. Loki got a better look at her once he finished the food. She had long, dark locks that fell from a braid she had. Some hairs being shorter than others suggested that they had been cut roughly and unprofessionally, probably by her. She had thick layers on, very dark colors. Her clothes were ragged and had holes, but were practical. Loki could tell she could move swiftly in them, despite looking so heavy. And her face, despite having dirt and scratches and bruises, was very pretty. But her small lips looked to be locked in a permanent frown, her fiery blue eyes in an unladylike look of concentration and determination.

"This," he tried, attempting to regain control of his breathing, "this is not how I was told Valhalla would be."

She glanced sharply at him, but faced her work again, and Loki could make out a silver glint of a knife that she was carving into.

"That's because you're in what's equivalent to the opposite of Valhalla." She remarked, turning her head as she worked, hair falling onto the side of her face.

"Then what is this dark place that crawls with beasts and maidens?" She laughed at that.

"I'm the only maiden you'll find here, if you can even call me that." Her laugh was sad, almost bitter, and a bit dry, as if she hadn't used her voice in a while.

"Sorry, but you've fallen into the Tenth Realm, for we creatures can find no words but that to truly describe the horrors it has inside." Loki's eye widened and he struggled to get up. He had heard whispers from few about the mysterious and dangerous Realm. But he had always thought it to just be that. Whispers. Rumors.

"So, you got a name?" Her accent changed so quickly, Loki wondered if he had imagined the first one from his fatigue. A moment ago she might have been Royal Council Member, now she sounded like a commoner.

"They call me Loki." His answer came short. He wanted to ask where she had put him, if she had saved him from that beast. All he had for his vision was a small, meager fire to illuminate the darkness around them. "Do you have a name?"

She smiled at his answer, and brought up the blade for closer inspection to her eye.

"I call me Nella." She said. Then added, "I hope you're good with a knife."

* * *

They began travelling as soon as Loki could walk. "Can never stay in one place for too long. Or else something'll catch our scent and eat us alive."

Loki noted how she referred to it as 'us' not 'me'. She already has decided to help me, he thought, but why? And is she trustworthy?

She had given him a knife for protection, so she must have thought him trustworthy, yet he had no doubt she might win in a fight if it came down to it. With many blades that kept appearing out of nowhere, and a keen sense for fighting and good skills, as well as already living in this Purgatory much longer than him, if he attempted hurt her, it wouldn't just be taking a gamble, it would downright stupid.

"Are we going to any particular place?" He asked as they hiked over a mountain of some sort. It seemed to be snowing ash, but it was so dusty anyway he almost couldn't tell.

"Not really. Anyplace you want to go?" She leaped onto a high rock, then turned and offered him a hand to pull him up. Loki didn't like it when people usually offered him help. It meant they pitied him, normally, but this woman was not very normal.

She hoisted him up and the looked him over. Loki felt smaller, as if she was judging him.

"We need to get all this armor off you." She spoke. It took him a moment to fully realize what she said.

"Why?" At once he felt almost protective of his clothes; they were the only things he had left of his clothes. He stepped back a little, as if afraid that she would start cutting them off him.

"They're too heavy, they'll wear you down after some time, and they're a bit too flashy. The only battle armor you need now if for fighting, and the only fighting we do here is for life, not sport."


End file.
